


Next

by trialanderror12



Series: Now and Again [3]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Thor (Movies)
Genre: Angst, Gossip, M/M, Mischief, More angst, hey look some more angst, the tiniest little bit of fluff (wrapped up in even moar angst)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-15
Updated: 2015-02-15
Packaged: 2018-03-13 00:03:48
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,920
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3360302
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/trialanderror12/pseuds/trialanderror12
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Takes place directly after <a href="http://archiveofourown.org/works/3310349/chapters/7231868">Then</a>. Loki isn't going to give Thor up without a fight. He tries every trick in the book to win him back, but will it be enough?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Next

They didn’t end up talking about it.

Loki had been dropping hints ever since that fateful day Odin had walked in on them, trying his best to steal a moment with Thor alone. But Thor was carefully avoiding him—he always had somewhere else to be when Loki tried to speak with him privately, and he all but ignored him unless absolutely necessary. Whatever was going on, it didn’t seem he would be getting any answers from Thor.

So instead Loki set about considering their recent interactions himself, sifting through the events of the past few weeks in search of what had gone wrong. Painstaking reexamination of every minute detail garnered no leads, so Loki was forced to consider the only remaining theory—that he had done something to make Thor grow tired of him. 

So he made a mental list of his worst qualities, and the ones Thor and his parents seemed to complain about most often were the razor-sharp bite that often accompanied his words and his inability to behave properly in front of guests (unless it suited his best interests, of course).

Well, Loki could fix that. Turning over a new leaf couldn’t be that hard—he could be _nice_ to people. So he began observing perfect manners at the table; asking ever-so-politely to be passed dishes at the edge of his reach, making the kind of incessant small talk he abhorred with a soft and gracious smile, welcoming visitors from other realms with an elaborate bow and a kiss to the hand (at first for both sexes, but after he’d gotten a few strange looks he’d decided not to rock the boat and stick with just the women). He inquired about their guests’ personal lives and did an excellent job of pretending he cared about their response. He answered questions about himself when asked (even if he had to drag every single bit of information out, kicking and screaming, from that place inside him that said _no, no, no, don’t tell them anything! If they don’t know you they can’t hurt you no don’t tell them no no don’t—_. He ate his meal at a sedate pace, always, and waited an appropriate amount of time before humbly asking his mother to excuse him. 

Loki had always been one to skip parties and balls, or lurk sullenly in the corners if he absolutely had to attend. But now he smiled brightly and asked dignitaries and courtiers alike to dance, putting on a great show of spinning his partners around and bowing deeply when each begged tiredness and took their leave. Near the end of once particularly eventful night he grabbed a duke from the sidelines and pulled him onto the dance floor and let him lead—he got the tiniest flicker of surprise out of Thor from that, and a searching look from both his parents, but then just as quickly as Thor’s attention had come it was gone again, and Loki demurred when the duke requested his hand for the next song. 

At the feast after the ball, Loki came to the conclusion that his plan had either worked or it hadn’t; there wasn’t much else he could do. So Loki switched gears and decided to test Thor one last time, by forgetting his newfound manners entirely. He handed out insults like candy, veiled in sugary-sweet wrappings that left the visiting dignitaries unsure if they’d had their character besmirched or not (and certainly unwilling to accuse a Prince of Asgard of such a thing when they weren’t entirely sure themselves) until Frigga kicked him pointedly under the table and he chose to stop rather than risk her wrath. 

He took the less obvious route after that; snagging pieces of Thor’s silverware for himself and then returning them used, snatching bits of his favorites from Thor’s plate when he could have easily taken his own portion. Just a few weeks ago they might have stolen off to one of their rooms with a stash of delicacies in hand, and Loki would have settled his head onto Thor’s lap and closed his eyes as his hair was petted and Thor alternated feeding them bite-sized pieces of fruits and cheese and sweets until the feel of Thor’s fingers against his lips became too much and he pushed him down on the bed to kiss him instead, the flavor of the watermelon Loki loathed tasting inexplicably sweet now on his tongue…

But that was then and this was now, and Thor just wasn’t taking the bait. Loki grabbed the napkin from Thor’s lap, made a show of wiping his mouth with it, and placed the square back down on his thigh. His brother didn’t so much as twitch, and Loki’d had enough. To Thor’s left was a serving bowl piled high with brussels sprouts, which Loki hadn’t been able to stand ever since he was a child. Thor hadn’t much cared for them either, but Loki’s tantrums had been legendary. He’d always refused to eat a single one, no matter how he was bribed or punished. He wasn’t a picky eater otherwise, so this little quirk had been quite strange—certainly memorable.

Ever so slowly, Loki reached across Thor’s space toward the brussels sprouts. He stood far too close and leaned too far over, and his elbow not-so-accidentally almost caught Thor in the nose on the way back. He dramatically spooned a large helping onto his plate, and Odin and Frigga watched bug-eyed but Thor kept calmly chewing his steak.

And Loki was _finished_. 

He bit back a scream and flung the serving dish on the floor, feeling only the slightest hint of satisfaction as it smashed into a thousand tiny pieces. This finally _did_ make Thor jump, just a little, but unlike every other set of eyes in the hall, Thor’s didn’t snap right to him. It didn’t matter—Loki wasn’t even trying to get his attention anymore. He’d just had about all he could take. He stormed off to his room without another word, and wisely no one tried to follow.

He lay awake for a long time that night, staring at the canopy above his bed and berating himself for ever thinking this plan would work. Thor hadn’t minded his abrasiveness before; turning into a mindless puppet of the state was hardly going to win back his affections. Maybe they’d just become too familiar, then. Maybe it had been too easy, too simple, too effortless; the thrill of flirting and teasing and wondering who would break first had built up deliciously for months in the beginning, after all. Maybe after a few decades of monogamy Thor just wanted a little excitement. Well, maybe Loki knew how to remedy that too. A little jealousy went a long way toward stirring one’s desire. Maybe all Thor needed was a little push to remind him of what he was missing.

—————

Over the next few weeks, an inordinate number of rumors regarding Loki’s varied and adventurous sexual escapades began making their way around the palace. They became the number one conversation topic among the servants, and while they were smart enough not to let anything slip out to the neighboring villages they certainly weren't shy about gossiping with the courtiers. 

Loki might have been embarrassed, except for two very important points; one: no one was foolish enough to breathe a word to Odin or Frigga, so Loki didn’t have _that_ particular conversation looming over him. And two: Loki had started all the rumors himself.

It was a rather genius ploy, if he did say so himself. He was certain that the rumors _were_ reaching Thor’s ears, and his brother had seemed a bit off-balance lately. He hadn’t confronted Loki directly, and he doubted anyone else noticed, but to someone who knew him as well as Loki did it was obvious. He was slightly flustered and just the tiniest bit distracted, and Loki didn’t think he’d have to wait much longer before he broke.

The story that had started circulating a few days ago concerning Loki and the Royal Baker, who was a large, somewhat intimidating man who looked quite a bit like Thor and had a reputation for taking anyone who’d let him, should be reaching Thor’s ears soon enough. And if _that_ didn’t do the trick, Loki mused, he’d really have to come up with something out of the box…

He was halfheartedly contemplating an elaborate illusion involving shapeshifting and Father’s war horse— _that_ would be sure to get Thor’s attention, he thought wryly, if nothing else—when his heart skipped a beat at the sound of Thor’s bright, happy laughter coming suddenly from around the corner. For a moment he couldn’t bring himself to move—gods, he’d missed that sound. Loki hated this—his heart _hurt_. It wasn’t supposed to be this way. They’d been happy, hadn’t they? Loki wanted to say yes, but he wasn’t so sure anymore.

Loki poked his head around the corner and saw Thor standing far too close to Sif, and his heart sped faster. No, no, this couldn’t be what it looked like. They were just friends… But damn it all if this didn’t make so much more _sense_ than any other explanation Loki had managed to come up with, and Thor was smiling at her so brightly—not the way he used to smile at Loki, exactly, but still so beautiful as it lit up his face—and Loki didn’t want it to be true but he had a sickening feeling that it was, and he’d thought love had hurt before but _fuck_ , he’d been wrong. This was torture.

Sif said something Loki couldn’t quite make out, and then Thor was frowning at her worriedly, grabbing her forearm and examining it carefully. He must have found what he was looking for because he released her only a few moments later, but now Loki was certain he was right. How many times had he checked Loki over for injuries exactly like that? Thor had moved on.

Loki ducked back into the hallway and slid down the wall onto the stone floor, his head in his hands. He’d been such a fool. He’d been so focused on himself all this time—on what he’d done wrong, what he could do better, how he could fix things with Thor. But it wasn’t about him, was it? Thor had found someone else; someone he loved better than Loki. And who could blame him? Sif was more like who he should have wanted in the first place, anyway. A strong warrior, a beautiful woman, an intelligent mind (nothing compared to Loki's, of course, but when balanced against the other traits Loki lacked that didn't seem very important). A fierce woman of noble birth, who Thor could wed and father heirs with and rule Asgard with at his side. Not his anti-social runt of a little brother who he had to hide and fuck behind closed doors, with whom he could never have a future.

Right. Loki was a grown man, and he wasn’t going to fall apart like this. He was going to stand up slowly, and breathe, and maybe head over to the library and crack open a new book—

Thor and Sif’s combined laughter floated over to him once again, and all attempts at calm went out the window. Loki scrambled to his feet and fled, and resolutely _did not_ cry until his chamber doors had slammed and his sobs were muffled by his pillow.


End file.
